On May 6th 1987, I was sixteen. The day before I had watched Steve Davis win the Snooker World Championship for the fourth time. I had time back then to watch a lot of snooker. I was still smarting after the break-up of my first proper relationship with a girl who shall remain nameless. Was May 6th a defining day for me? Well something drove me to Adrian Molesque bad poetry and the purchase of one of my all-time favourite albums. My diary entry reads as follows:-

School – totally boring! Saw Becky, Abby and Gaynor at dinner, but tone turned grey when I met —’s eyes, if I could have said ‘slag’ with my eyes I would. After buying ‘Black Celebration’ by Depeche Mode and tea I did a bit of chem. Watched TV and then wrote a poem:

The Modern Girl

The sapphire blue wasn’t needed,

Her eyes could be brown, green, non-existent.

She doesn’t see the reality to life.

Television, groups, adverts, clothes sell.

She buys the images.

Thousands starve, people bleed,

Their eyes could be brown, green, sapphire,

They see the reality to life.

But no-one helps, too many cameras,

Filling in gaps where trend wasn’t available.

He sees the supple curves,

The clean white sheets and warm covers

Rolled back. He could see her.

The ‘her’ bred from the con.

Her soul cried unceasingly, thrashing in chains.

Her artificial lines held her captive.

Maybe souls touched, but her warm felt cold

To him, artificial, a concept.

She could die not knowing.

How he wished he could fool himself.

The sun was drowning

As they walked together apart into the wood.

Her clothes fell away, like in a song,

Shocked he held her.

A dead leaf fell onto her shoulder.

He saw golden brown, crumpled,

Her soul falling in conditioning.

Her lipstick produced a moan of textual lust.

She followed his eyes to her marble shoulder.

Brushing away the leaf, she encompassed him.

She ignored the screams.

The Depeche Mode influence is obvious. Why am I writing about this now? To be honest it is quite simply because I have run out of films to write about and I am stuck in the middle of a massive George R. R. Martin book which I won’t be reviewing as it is Book 4 of his epic that the tv drama Game of Thrones is based on.